


Tales of the House of Húrin

by flavouredcheese



Category: Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Brotherhood, Drabble Collection, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Family, Growing Up, House of Hurin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-13
Updated: 2012-03-09
Packaged: 2017-10-31 02:45:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/339014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flavouredcheese/pseuds/flavouredcheese
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles, centralising around the Stewards and the House of Húrin. One shots of both Boromir and Faramir's childhood will be put into this collection as well. I hope to do justice to these characters and elaborate on their relationships with each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**( I )**

Her hand is cold. He could feel her life slowly slip from his reach. Denethor was too proud to give in to his grief and shed his tears, but he could feel his will slowly crack and crumble. He feels helpless. He feels afraid and alone. He had yelled at the healers, but even they could not stop the will of fate. He was at her side now, on his knees as he held her hand to his lips. He opens his eyes and looks upon his wife. Slowly she breathed. Shallow and faint. He sees her eyes flicker underneath her eyes lids, and he hoped she would wake and look at him. He hoped she would speak and smile again. She became still once more and hope flees from him. She was so cold. She was fading from this world. He holds her hand so she will not leave him but she was washing away from under his fingers. She lays there, her fair head resting against the pillow. He wants to free his hand and stroke her cheek as he did on the day they wed, but he did not dare lest in that moment she falls away.

This is the worst sickness that has befallen her, though she had been weak in body ever since she gave birth. They said that she will not recover from this. He shouted at them again and forbade them from giving up on her, but what could they do against the will of the heavens? He whispers to her, begging her not to leave. He did not know what words he had used, for his voice did not sound like his. He didn't want her to go. He will not allow her to leave. How could he live without her? He wanted her to stay. He wanted her to see their sons grow to be great men. He wishes that he had shown her in full the love he felt for her, the love she deserved. He wishes that there was more time.

He feels his breath stolen from him and he looks to her. No. He had been holding her hand. She can't have gone. He was just holding her hand. She can't have been taken away. No. She was here. She- She was here a moment ago, in his hands, he felt her. She was here. No. His eyes burned with tears as he lets her hand go and reaches to clasp her face. She was here. No. She's gone now. She's gone. He wants to scream at them for taking her, but what can he do to stop them? She's gone.

He hears a voice. A child. Faramir. He's crying. Boromir shouts at his brother and tells him not to cry but he hears his eldest son's voice straining with tears. Faramir runs to the bed and cries for his mother. He calls for her. Again and again. Denethor wants to tell him that his mother had gone. That his mother is not coming back but his voice fails him. His throat was dry and his chest stung. He looks to see Boromir had run out of the room. He tries to call for him but his words have fallen uselessly at his lips. Faramir was hugging her. He has stopped calling for her. He was just crying now. He is too young. Too young to understand. Denethor forces himself to his feet and leans forward to pry his youngest son from her. He holds him close as his tears wets his shoulder. Come Faramir. Come. Shh. Shh. He kisses his head and holds him tighter when his cries renewed. He is screaming now, screaming for her. He brings his son out of the room, whispering unheard comforts into his son's ear. His hands were shaking as he finds a maid and tells her to take Faramir downstairs. She's gone. Your mother's gone, son. How could he say those words to him? He's too young.

He sinks against the wall as he hears his son's fading cries. She was here. He was holding her in his hands. How can she be gone? How? Denethor, Steward of Gondor finally abandons his pride, gives in to his grief and weeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is something that i needed to write, and was for once satisfied with how it turned out. I wanted to write about Denethor, who in my opinion is a character most people misunderstand or almost know nothing about beyond his favouritism towards his eldest son. I also wanted to explore his character a bit more, to understand him and his relationship with Finduilas. I also wanted to show in this drabble his relationship with his sons, namely Faramir, who was at the time of his mother's death, only five years old ( whilst Boromir was ten ) . He does love Faramir but without Finduilas, he doesn't know how to love him as he should.
> 
> Thank you for reading this if you did. This is my first time really posting anything online, and if there are any errors in spelling or in grammar please point them out. thanks <3


	2. ( II )

**( II )**

Ecthelion carries his grandson to the boy's room. He allows himself to smile at the image of Boromir who was running around screaming and jumping just a few hours ago was now sound asleep in his arms. He's growing so fast. The boy will be a good warrior, he thinks. A sudden grief then befalls him as he remembers the dream that came to him the night before. This boy will have a short life, was what the voice in his dream told him. He then sees his grandson, grown tall and mighty in his stature. For a moment he is bathed in light. The boy was smiling at him. Grandfather, he called. Another voice calls and Boromir turns towards it. A soft and ringing voice, which delivered cold words. Ecthelion could not make out those words but when he looks to Boromir, his grandson's face had changed. Wearied and full of sorrow. Darkness now surrounded him and choked him. He sees him draw his sword and struggle to fight them off. Boromir soon falls, the darkness rushes to engulf him. Ecthelion charges forward, to save his beloved grandson, but the world pulled him from the dream and he awoke in cold sweat, but the voice had not left him. Those words haunted him still.

Ecthelion laid his grandson on the bed and pulls the duvet over him. The boy looks at peace. His bright and big smile has given way to a calm and contented face. Ecthelion brushes the boy's fringes back and tucks him in. The Steward then falls to his knees and begins to weep. His pride finally giving way to tears. He sees again the boy that was running up and down the courtyard chasing a cat. Laughing and screaming in delight even if the cat evaded his capture. That boy did not deserve such a dark fate. He deserved to lived to his full, surrounded with both children and grandchildren, before finally passing on with a heart fulfilled and void of any regret or pain. If only he could save him. If there was any way he could save his grandson from this path.

Slowly Ecthelion steadies himself and wipes the tears from his eyes, though his heart still stung from the despair the dream had brought. He kisses Boromir on his brow and lifts himself to his feet. He lights a candle on the bed table and makes towards the exit, not looking back before closing door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading if you did, and sorry for being a little bit depressing. I do write happier stuff, but i never seem to finish them.


	3. ( III )

( III )

 

Finduilas had asked her maids to move her chair to the southern window a month ago, and since then she would sit there every morning till the sun set and turned her room dark. Sometimes she would have a book in her hands and she will read stories to herself, letting her mind wander amongst tales and wonders of the written word. Other times she will knit, maybe sew clothes for her two sons. ( They were growing so quickly, you see, and her eldest son seems to be very fond of getting tears in his clothes. ) Perhaps she will get visits from her husband and sons, maybe her friends, who will sit and talk with her to bring cheer and life back into her eyes. But when she isn't doing any of these things, or perhaps when her body tires she will turn to her window and look southward. There she sees the sea, past the hills and over the mountains. She can see her home. She feels the wind and she remembers how the sea smelt and how the sand felt as her feet sank into the beach.

When her sons come in to visit her during these day dreams, she would call to them to sit on her lap as she tells them stories that her father had told to her as a child. Tales of Seas, Ships and Sailors. She would make her youngest son's eyes grow wide with curiosity as he asks her question after question, whilst her eldest will jump up and down, running and shouting, pretending to be on a ship battling pirates. She smiles at this. Her sons were so alive. She is happy for them. They ask her when will they be able to visit the Sea, and she will always answer soon.

Her husband will visit her in the evenings, when all his duties for the day have been fulfilled and all his errands seen to. He will sit beside her and hold her hand whilst they share a comfortable silence. She had learnt that this silence was his way of speaking and the only way he knew to comfort her. While they still exchanged words with eachother she had learnt that most of their conversation and understanding of each other has been born out of this silence, and it didn't take long for her to enjoy this. When she feels the need to retire to her chambers he will help her to her feet and support her to her bed. There he will lay her down and sit beside her until she falls into her dreams. Sometimes she will ask her husband to take her to the gardens and when she does he will look upon her, worried, but she will insist that she is able to make the journey. He eventually agrees and slowly they will walk to the gardens on the 6th tier of the White city. She leans on her husband's shoulder as he leads her. Sometimes she will close her eyes and feel weary, but will refuse her husband's other hand for support.

They will walk to a bench near a fountain and rest there. She likes this part of the gardens because in her mind, the trickling water of the fountain becomes the crash of waves against the sandy beaches of her home. Her husband will wrap his arms around her and she feels warmth return to her. Lately her husband has been distant and cold, even more than usual. First she deemed it as grief for his father who had passed, but she soon realised that this was more than grief. There was something else, something was plaguing her husband, as if a heavy burden has been set on his mind. She asks him about this, to speak his mind with her, to share the torments of his mind with her, but he will shake his head, and look into her eyes. Do not unease yourself over me, love.

She will then frown and become angry with her husband, she will tell him that keeping these troubles to himself will only result in pain. She will speak, her voice clear again and her eyes will be lit by a spark that gave hope to her husband that one day she may recover from her sickness, but that hope will soon fade away when she closes her eyes and leans against him, wearied and tired. He will apologise to her, kissing the top of her head and allows her to rest. Finally, with a voice barely louder than a whisper, she will ask her husband to bring her to her bed.

Carefully, her husband will lift her in his arms and hold her steady as he climbs back up the hill to the citadel. His mind worries at how much lighter she has become and how much her body was shrinking in her own clothes. He tells her that she will have to eat more if she wishes to recover and she will hum absently in reply. His footfalls echo around him as he passes the white tree and into the Steward's house. The corridors are silent and still, though the torches still lit them. Their sons will be fast asleep at these times and he will always be glad that they did not have to see their mother like this. He opens the door to his left and makes his way to the bed, there he lays her gently on the matress and pulls the covers over her body. Some nights, she will still be awake, though her eyes were closed, and her husband will sit at her side until she falls asleep, then he will blow out the candle at her bed table before he turns to leave for his own chambers.

Tonight, just as she was about to fade into sleep she asks her husband when she will she see her home by the sea again. Denethor looks at her sadly, and takes her hand. Once you recover and fit enough to travel, you will, my love. I promise you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading if you did <3 and i love Denethor and Finduilas so much my heart hurts whenever i remember that there isn't much of them in the books. and the next drabble i post here will be happy i promise O v O


End file.
